


Scarlet Malfoy

by witchinghvur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Bullying, Dark Magic, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy & Ron Weasley Friendship, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Ferrets, Gen, Ghosts, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Gryffindor, Gryffindor Common Room, Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Express, Kings Cross, Neville Longbottom & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Draco Malfoy, Platform 9 3/4, Quidditch, Slytherin, Tags May Change, The Golden Trio, The Golden Trio Era (Harry Potter), The Sorting Hat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2019-11-19 00:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18128318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchinghvur/pseuds/witchinghvur
Summary: "Oh, but of course," it drawled, "That's only the expectation, isn't it? Yes... Slytherin will lead you on the way to greatness, that is true. But your mind is complicated, dear boy... even I, the wisest object within this castle's walls, struggle to understand you."When Draco Lucius Malfoy is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he expects nothing more than to live up to his father's expectations, and to relive his mother's stories. However, when the Sorting Hat disagrees and chooses to place him in the very house on the opposing side of the rivalry, Draco finds his years at Hogwarts to go any other way than according to plan.





	1. The House of Slytherin

King's Cross station, Draco had decided, was by far one of the most congested and suffocating places there were. Excepting the previous few weeks - which had rushed along with the purchasing and errand-running of preparing for school - he had rarely ever left the Malfoy Manor. Pushing a trolley stuffed with luggage he couldn't see over was a ridiculously quick change from the seclusion of his family home.

Swarms of gentlemen clad in tawdry suits or casual attire marched flippantly by, dragging their missus along by the hand. Being surrounded by so many people at once was something Draco had experienced before, but not enough to grow used to. Children ran this way and that, giggling to themselves and fidgeting with stuffed toys, oblivious to the stern glances the older persons would give them for their immoderate noise. Draco found it quite endearing, actually.

However, the childrens' laughter would cease immediately once they landed eyes on the Malfoys.

To define Draco's parents as intimidating was a bold understatement, one would find "frightening" as a much closer description. Something about the pointedness of Narcissa Malfoy's chin and cheekbones, and the seemingly permanent sneer of Lucius Malfoy made it difficult to find either of the adults approachable. It wasn't as if Draco looked any softer, sporting an angular face shape and his father’s mercury eyes, but the child will always seem more lenient than the parents, no matter their appearance.

When one takes in the family's collective platinum-blond hair, colourless garments, and cutting facial features, it is understandable why small children choose to cower behind their mother's knees upon seeing the Malfoys. Draco would admit it himself, his father was especially terrifying at times, his mother however, not as much.

It was easy to fear a man like Lucius, but impossible to fear a woman like Narcissa - for how could one possibly cower before a woman who smelt so freshly of rain and lime zest, her natural scent gliding in swirls whenever her angular lips curled into a charming smile? Draco's father was not a bad father, not a bad one at all, but the cold hard exterior he has always been so desperate to keep constructed had built a barrier between himself and his son. Of course, that never stopped Draco from asking questions. 

As the family of three manoeuvred their way through the crowds, Draco noticed the station signs did not have what they were looking for labelled. Arrows were pointing to platform nine and platform ten, but there seemed to be nothing in between.

"Are we lost?" Draco asked, bending his neck at an uncomfortable angle to read a sign a few feet above him, "I don't understand. Where do we find platform nine-and-three-quarters? There aren't any signs for it."

"You have nothing to worry about, Draco," his father responded, not once looking at Draco as he did, "Myself and your mother have been here plenty of times before.”

His mother placed a slender hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, “Don’t fret, darling. We know where we’re going.”

Trusting their judgement, Draco continued steering, tilting the trolley to his right and left to avoid colliding with any passer-bys. His eagle owl Ulysses snapped his head back to face Draco and tweeted, picking at the bars of his cage with his beak.

“Sorry, Ulysses, but I can’t let you out now. Give it a few more hours,” Draco cooed, loosing control of the trolley for only a moment, “Believe me, I hate confined spaces just as much as you do.”

Ulysses only responded by letting out a disapproving squawk, which attracted the attention of many confused and curious bystanders.

“Draco, please don’t talk to the bird in public,” his father said, tapping his cane on Draco’s shoulder, “You sound like a madman.”

“Right,” Draco whispered, “Sorry.”

The family patrolled forward in silence for a moment, then his mother leant down behind him and rested her hands on both his shoulders, reaching closer to her son’s ear, “Ulysses is so much like you, have you realised? He’s very feisty when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Hey!” Draco retorted, and his mother giggled and straightened herself back up. A little girl strolling past, tugged along by her mother, pointed at Ulysses and chanted _birdie! birdie!_ and Draco tittered as her mother pulled her away by the shoulders. His father scoffed in contrast, and the three continued walking. With the swarms of London citizens marching left and right, towards and away, Draco blindly trusted his father to lead the needed way to the platform.

Normally, Draco detested crowded areas like King’s Cross station, but the overwhelming excitement that came with finally setting off to Hogwarts diluted said hatred. It wasn’t at all like Draco didn’t enjoy living in luxury at the manor, or getting lessons every now and then from his parents on how to control his magical outbursts, but the past eleven years had been packed full of waiting. Waiting for his acceptance letter, waiting to purchase his own personal wand, waiting to practice amusing spells, it was all and only waiting. Albeit Draco was a decently forbearing person, even the most patient of people can grow irritated.

That was why when Draco spotted an unfamiliar tawny owl soaring through the grey skies of Wiltshire towards his family home, he had tripped his way out to the front garden to catch it’s delivery, and badly sprained an ankle in the process. A cringe shot through him as Draco recalled his mother jogging out to where he lay on the gravel, clutching a letter in one hand and his foot in the other, smiling and crying at the same time. She laughed along with him, despite her also being worried sick.

Deep in thought, Draco had lost the little control he had over his trolley, and collided with a woman not looking where she was headed, her eyes glued to a map she was holding.

“Oh, pardon me, madam!” Draco apologised, pulling his trolley back towards him, but the woman did not seem to forgive him.

“Watch it, bloody plonker!” she scolded, and scurried off, glaring at the family.

“Well, excuse you! I apologised, didn’t I?” Draco shouted over his shoulder as the woman waddled further away.

“Go cry about it, you tosser,” she bit back. Draco merely tutted and pushed his trolley forward, not bothering with any witty comebacks. His mother placed a hand atop his head, smoothing his hair into a slicked-back tidiness.

“That woman was so rude,” Draco complained, and he heard his mother chuckle lightly behind him, “She wasn’t looking where she was going either! I hate people like that, people who put the blame on everybody else when they’re at fault too.”

“'Hate' is a very strong word, Draco,” his mother said, sharpening her voice to one more authoritative, “And not a very nice one either.”

“Well, I feel it fits perfectly for what I’m saying, it’s not like I’m going to see her ever again anyway,” he countered, and his mother giggled again, which annoyed him slightly. He heard his father click his tongue.

“Stupid muggles,” he muttered, readjusting his grip on his cane with both hands, “Vermin, aren’t they?”

“Now, now, Lucius,” Draco’s mother argued, “You can never know for sure whether that woman was a muggle or not. There is such thing as rude witches.”

Draco looked back at his mother, astounded at her nerve to defy his father. He couldn’t admire her for long though, as his trolley started to spiral around again, risking another collision. Draco dragged it back into control with a groan.

“Father, why do I have to push the trolley?” he bemoaned, but his father only rolled his eyes.

“Save your breath,” he spat back caustically, “We’re almost there, anyway.”

Draco sighed but did not bother complaining more, he knew his protests would mean nothing to his father. Therefore, he continued aimlessly walking, not at all sure where he was headed, and especially careful to not crash with anyone else.

“So, Draco,” his mother spoke from behind, “What Hogwarts house are you hoping to be placed in?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the boy exclaimed, astonished by the question, “Slytherin! Just like you and father!”

Draco reached his hand behind for hers, and dragged his mother to walk beside the trolley so he could talk to her properly, “Tell me about your first day at Hogwarts again! It’s a lovely story!”

His mother giggled graciously at his request, and tapped the tip of his nose with her manicured finger, “Only if you say ‘please’.”

“Please!” he chanted immediately after, and his mother hummed.

“Well,” she started, dropping her voice down to a lower volume, and Draco smiled giddily, “I was just as little as you are now, and not to mention, just as excited! Your Aunt Bella already knew the ins and outs of the Hogwarts castle, and accompanied me through the station, yapping to me about all the wonders of Hogwarts! We got on the train, and it was such a long journey I thought I wouldn’t make it there without combusting from the restlessness of it all. It was all worth it, however, for I have never seen a more beautiful castle than Hogwarts, you’re going to love it there."

She paused for a moment, and Draco pulled at her sleeve to egg her on, “I went to go get sorted once we arrived, they call that the Sorting Ceremony. It’s held in the Great Hall, and it earns it’s name! Thousands of candles float in the air, illuminating the hall in a splendid golden light, and the roof of the Great Hall changes colours and designs based on the sky outside. On the night of my Sorting Ceremony, it shone violet, decorated with thousands of stars and swirling galaxies. They huddled me with all the other new arrivals in a crowd at the front, facing a stool, and atop it sat something they call the Sorting Hat. Now, the Sorting Hat is a-"

“A talking hat that can see into your thoughts, determining which house to put you in,” Draco finished, growing impatient, and tripped over his own foot as he briefly forgot how to walk properly, “Now, go on! _Go on_!”

His mother chuckled like a songbird, “All right! Well, when Aunt Bella was sorted a few years before I, immediately she was sorted into Slytherin. The hat didn’t even bother looking deeper, in fact, it wasn’t even sitting properly on her head yet when it made it’s decision, I guess it was just meant to be…”

Draco noticed his mother glance warily at her husband, but her eyes darted back to her son not even a second after, “For me however, it took the hat a moment to decide, claiming that it thought I would do nicely in quite a few different houses. It stalled for a considerable while, embarrassingly announcing to all of Hogwarts what really goes on inside my head.”

Her body tensed and Draco reached to take her hand, knowing what came next in the story, having heard it countless times before, “Then a student stood up, an older boy from Gryffindor, terrible manners, I never bothered to learn his name. He shouted at me, something about me being a Black and keeping me away from the Muggleborns. Not long after, almost all of Gryffindor seemed to be laughing at me-"

“Well, that’s just expected of them,” Draco’s father interrupted, “That impudent house owns nothing but brainless delinquents who never bother to think before they jump. Yet they call that righteousness! Honestly, they respect Dumbledore to such ends I wouldn’t be surprised if they all followed him off a bridge-"

“Lucius, I was telling a story,” Draco’s mother said, and his father swallowed and narrowed his eyes, but said nothing more. She softened her assertive expression and gazed back at her son.

“Why did it put you in Slytherin?” Draco asked, and his mother sighed.

“Well… I saw my sister, your Aunt Bella, sitting at her house table watching me. She looked... scared,” she pulled a tight smile, “I didn’t like that look, so I asked the Sorting Hat to put me in Slytherin. I told it I wanted nothing more, but-"

“Wise decision,” Draco’s father butt in once again before the boy could comment, his tone sounding as though he found the sincerity of his wife’s story too disgusting to bear, “Draco, we’re here.”

“What?” he sputtered, “What are you talking about?”

“We’re here.”

Common sense was telling Draco that they had not arrived at platform nine-and-three-quarters, for his father had paused in front of nothing more than a brick wall. Draco had grown up surrounded by the amazements of magic, perhaps this brick wall opened like the passage to Diagon Alley, but isn’t that far too discernible for a muggle setting?

“Does it open like the one in the Leaky Cauldron?” Draco asked, just to prove his theory true or not, but his father shook his head and lifted a finger to answer. Draco was too quick in asking another question though, cutting his father off.

“Is there a password or something?”

“No, but-“

“Do we need to pay?”

“No, now if you would let me-“

“Do we have to answer a riddle? I’m terrible at riddles… oh! Father, you could answer it for me! You like riddles. Perhaps you could answer and I could, uh, sneak in with you when the wall opens, that way I won’t need to answer a riddle after you do-"

“No,” his father hissed through gritting teeth, and shoved the tip of his cane into Draco’s side, breaking off his question. It didn’t hurt - not one bit - but it did come as a quite a shock, pushing a cough out of Draco. 

“If you could let me talk, I’ll tell you,” his father said calmly, and Draco nodded. He felt his mother rub a hand up and down his back comfortingly, and his father strolled closer and leant down to reach his son’s ear. 

“All you have to do is run straight through the wall,” he explained, and Draco nodded again, “Do not worry about the muggles, they won’t see.”

He couldn’t exactly say he fancied the idea of running into a wall, but at this point, Draco would stop at nothing to get to Hogwarts. He breathed in, and nodded once more, not sure what to say. 

“So... so I just run through it? Is that it?” he queried, and his father nodded. Draco let out a noise of uncertainty, “W-Will you come with me?”

His mother sat down into a crouch and cupped Draco’s face, “Of course! What a silly question! Your father and I would like to see you off.”

Draco smiled at his mother’s words, watching as her eyes kept sparkling with affection and merriment. People would say Draco flourished his father’s eyes, and he would accept it, but secretly, it was his mother’s he wished he wore.

“Now,” she whispered, stroking Draco’s warm cheek with her thumb, “Let’s get you on that train.”

“Okay,” Draco mumbled, and he gripped onto the handlebar of his trolley tightly with both hands. He waited for a moment, the thrill of it all coming back to him.

“Whenever you’re ready, darling. It’s probably best to run if you’re nervous” his mother cooed, and Draco set off on a steady jog and quickly grew to a full-hearted sprint. His eyes squeezed tightly shut, and refused to open as he felt the cool gush of wind pass through him as he ran through the wall.

Draco was spat out the other side, and the chatter and shuffling of a crowded station returned, only this time it was far more exhilarating. Joyous squeals of children his age engulfed him, followed by the chants and laughter of proud parents. Draco waited by the wall impatiently, and was delighted to see his mother and father step out from it a mere moment after.

His mother swiped her hand across her sleeve, clearing it of dust, and approached her son, “Now, no running off. This is a very busy station-“

“Mother, look! It’s the train!” Draco shrieked over the congested bustle, and foolishly abandoned his luggage trolley and pushed past to the vehicle he had just caught sight of. Ignoring his mother’s call to beckon him back, he shoved his way through the numerous individuals until he was only a mere finger away from touching the train.

It’s crimson paint job was unbelievably lustrous, streaks of white light drawn across the carriages like paint. Without needing to touch his hand to it, Draco could feel the train tremble with energy as he took another step closer. It felt alive, excited to meet him. Golden hand-painted text had laid itself across the side of the carriage, _The Hogwarts Express_. Draco took a small step over the white safety line, and leant forward to trace it’s words.

A sharp tug on his arm wrenched him backwards, back across the safety line, and Draco was spun around to meet the cerulean of his mother’s eyes, “What did I just say? No running off! And you can’t just  _leave your trolley,_ Draco, people could nick!”

“Sorry, Mother,” Draco whimpered, his mother rarely ever raised her voice, “I’ll go get it back.”

“Never mind that, your father’s waiting by it,” she shook her head and held up a hand, “Just… don’t disappear like that, you’re a small boy!"

Draco nodded and allowed for his mother to haul him back by the forearm, weaving her graceful way through the crowd. Just like she said, his father was stood by Draco’s forsaken trolley, he towered a foot or so over everybody else on the platform. His mother let go of his arm so he could take the trolley back.

“Ready?” his mother said in a voice just loud enough to hear over the prattle, and she placed a hand on top of Draco’s head, who nodded to answer her question. To his pleasant surprise, she leant down and planted kisses all over the top of his head and forehead, disturbing his hair's tidiness.

“Mother! Not here,” Draco giggled, though his embarrassment didn’t convince him to push her away.

“I’m going to miss you, sweetheart,” she said, as she pulled Draco close into a tight embrace, “I know you’ll do great at Hogwarts.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Draco sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist, “I’ll try not to get into too much trouble.”

His mother laughed her songbird laugh and drew away from Draco just enough to place her hands on his shoulders. She leant down once more and kissed him on the forehead, her touch lingering for a moment to savour it.

“Remember,” she muttered into his hair, before lifting herself to smooth Draco’s attire with her hand, “Be polite... don’t eat too much sugar, take care of your books... but most importantly-“

“Don’t grow up too fast,” Draco finished her sentence for her, “I know, Mother. You only tell me that more than once every day!”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” she giggled, tapping the tip of Draco’s nose, “Of course, you should put effort into your studies, stand your ground when others find the need to poke fun at you, but find time to be a child. Have fun, make friends, joke around!”

Draco nodded, and his mother smiled, “Still, no more than three sweets every week. You can have as much fun as you want, but please control yourself!”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco rolled his eyes and chuckled, reaching a hand over to slip his mother’s off his shoulder, “I should be going, it’s almost eleven.”

His mother glanced at a clock strung on the brick wall above - reading ten to eleven - and sighed, smiling just enough to reveal her faint cheek dimples, “If you must.”

Before reaching around to take his trolley, Draco gave in to his urge to hug his mother once more, “Goodbye, Mother.”

“Write to me every day,” she whispered, and kissed his forehead once more.

“Every day?” Draco asked incredulously, and his mother rolled her eyes.

“Fine, every week,” she suggested, and Draco nodded. He groped around to find his trolley, not before running a hand through his hair to organise it, when something cold fell onto his shoulder. A silver, open-mouthed serpent head had eyes staring back up at him, attached to the sleek black wood of his father’s cane.

“Draco,” his father spoke pompously, and Draco smiled weakly at him, “I’m sure you won’t disappoint me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Father,” Draco said, making sure to bury his voice in fake confidence. When his father nodded approvingly, smirking as he did, Draco swallowed and pushed his trolley forward into the midst of the crowd. He didn’t do so without looking back at his parents once more and waving them a farewell.

A plump man with white gloves stood by the entrance to the carriage, rushing the waiting children in and helping with their luggage if need be. He was exceedingly impatient and it took every ounce of decency Draco had not to threaten him, a simple glare sufficed. As Draco attempted to gather each and every one of his suitcases and Ulysses’ cage in his two hands, the man waved frantically at him and grabbed his wrists.

“No, no, no, here,” he grunted, and he pulled the multiple cases out of Draco’s hands and placed them back on his trolley, “Take your carry-on, I’ll deal with the rest. Come on, move it!”

“Believe me, sir, I’m moving as fast as I can,” Draco retorted, and rummaged through his mound of suitcases to take out a sleek, black, book bag - which was charmed to hold as many items he needed, despite it’s size. Ulysses squawked, and Draco whistled back, delicately handling his cage before giving it to the man. He pushed Draco to the side and dragged his trolley to rest behind him, and with a wave of his hand, each individual suitcase floated high into the air and travelled away as if they had minds of their own. Draco couldn’t see where they were headed however, for the man shoved him aboard before he could catch a glimpse. Upon entering the carriage, he was bombarded by the peculiar, sickly strong scent of sugar.

The Hogwarts Express was much more compact than it seemed on the outside, Draco noticed. Arrays of children were strolling this way and that down a thin hallway, and Draco couldn’t at all fathom how the train would manage to hold over hundreds of people at once. He looked over the groups of friends reuniting after a long summer break absent of each other, the siblings chasing down the train and pushing other students out of the way, children leaning out of open windows to grab forgotten luggage from their parents. It was chaotic, but that only made the morning more exciting. Draco nodded politely at the students who cast intrigued looks his way, and made the decision to find a free compartment.

Being a rather small boy, it wasn’t difficult for Draco to weave his way through the hall, his only concern was to avoid getting swallowed by the crowd. He peaked in every compartment as he tracked further down, but each one seemed to be either too full, or housing children too old for Draco to feel comfortable with.

He did notice other things, such as how a few students out of every handful would give him a strange glance when he strolled past their compartment, he couldn’t tell whether they were glances of interest or distaste. When a girl in one compartment had the audacity to rashly sneer at him, Draco felt no hesitation with sneering back. He started to panic however, as he neared the end of the carriages and still couldn’t find a free-enough compartment.

“Oh, come on,” Draco muttered under his breath as he reached the last one to find it was occupied as well, holding two large and rather witless-looking boys. Draco shifted to turn back down the hall but it was too late, the two boys had already seen him, and their lopsided smiles were far too genuine for Draco to ignore. Sighing to himself, he slid open the compartment door and strode in.

“Hello,” he said politely, sitting on the seat opposite the two boys, “Seat taken?”

“No, no,” one of the boys muttered, this one was slightly taller than the other, with wavier, longer hair, “I’m Gregory Goyle!”

“Pleasure,” Draco nodded and held out his hand, offering it for either of the boys to shake, “I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh-"

Goyle and his currently nameless companion visibly stiffened, and Draco worried whether he did something wrong. He lowered his hand into his lap and raised an eyebrow , waiting for another reaction.

“Y-you’re a Malfoy?” Goyle’s friend stuttered, and his jaw fell slack, “Like... a  _Malfoy_ Malfoy?”

Draco shrugged, “Is there any other kind?”

Goyle laughed nervously, his wariness making Draco more uncomfortable than he already was. His father would always tell him to seek respect, but his mother would insist that he give no one any reason to fear him. Judging from their reactions, these two boys, if not feared, definitely felt stressed in his presence. Draco wasn’t exactly enjoying it.

“I’m Vincent Crabbe!” the other boy finally introduced himself. His face was certainly rounder than Goyle’s, featuring small piglike eyes and an even smaller mouth.

“Brilliant,” Draco said, as that was all he could think to say. Crabbe and Goyle just fidgeted anxiously opposite him, not sure what else to say either.

“Are you two first-years as well?” Draco asked, but the boys merely nodded and gave askew grins.

“What house are you hoping for?” Draco pushed again, “I want to be placed in Slytherin, it’s sort of a tradition in my family. Everyone’s been sorted into that house, my father says no other house is better. My mother disagrees, but I have a hunch she hopes I get sorted into Slytherin as well.”

Draco paused to catch his breath, though he wasn’t really expecting Crabbe and Goyle to listen to whatever else he had to say. Again, both of the boys nodded.

“Slytherin would be nice!” Crabbe said a slight bit too enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I want to be put in Slytherin too,” Goyle exclaimed, “I'll settle for nothing else!”

“Really? Nothing else?” Draco asked, “I wouldn’t mind Ravenclaw, I suppose, but my father despises Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. He says one’s too stupid, and the other’s too soft.”

Goyle snorted loudly, and Draco stared curiously at him. He shut up almost immediately, and Draco continued, “Even if I was put in Ravenclaw, I’m sure my father still wouldn’t be entirely happy. I think it would have something to do with me breaking the chain, you could call it-“

He was interrupted by a robust belch from Crabbe, who clasped a hand over his mouth once he was finished. Draco swore he could smell the boy’s breakfast.

“Sorry,” he apologised, his face uncommonly red, “It’s the nerves.”

“Yeah, that was gross,” Draco said, trying his very best to not screw his nose at the awful scent, which must have been wafting around the compartment, “Well, anyway, do either of you play Quidditch?”

Crabbe and Goyle both shook their heads, and Draco couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. Quidditch, or at least flying, was one thing Draco considered himself to be quite good at. After spending so many years at the manor, flying had definitely grown to be one of his favourite pastimes. Homeschooling ate away many of his hours, but other than that, Draco would still have far too much spare time.

Although he rarely had enough company to play a proper round of Quidditch, Draco would always be more than happy to race his mother, or play as chaser while she opted for keeper. Apparently, his mother had played for Slytherin while she attended Hogwarts. Draco hoped to do the same, if not Slytherin chaser - which he considered his strong suit - then perhaps seeker. Occasionally, his father would join in to play as another chaser, but that would only be if he couldn’t excuse himself out of his wife’s urges. 

“Oh,” Draco coughed, not quite sure whether there was anything else he could talk about, “Well, I do. My father says it’d be an act against Merlin if I don’t make it on the team. My mother said she’s pretty sure I could do it, but she also told me not to get my hopes up too high, since I’m only a first-year.”

“That’s fair,” Goyle mumbled, and after a few strained silent moments, Draco decided to stop his attempts at talking to either of the boys, for neither had anything in common with him to talk about. Therefore, he settled for gazing out of the compartment window.

Being at the very back of the train, the crowd congesting the platform had died down, for every guardian and parent was bidding adieu to their children at the front of the train where the entrance was. Draco had hoped to be able to open the window and kiss his mother on her forehead as the train took off, but he supposed he could save that for another school year.

He was however, astounded as to how platform nine-and-three-quarters had managed to fit the entire length of the Hogwarts Express under it’s roof. Magic, of course.

At this point in time, Draco wasn’t even aware of Crabbe and Goyle’s presence, and it was almost like they made sure he didn’t. He would never normally consider ignoring or being rude to another person, but something about their nervousness made him uncomfortable. Besides, his mother would always tell him to never give anyone a reason to fear him, so what better way to do so than to ignore Crabbe and Goyle completely?

Before Draco could bask further into his thoughts, a blaring horn shot through the train, and Draco’s heartbeat picked up with such excitement he could feel it crawl up his throat. He heard shuffling from outside his compartment, and then did the reality of where he was finally sink in. He was going to Hogwarts; every memory, illustration, and story his parents told him, he would be able to relive. He could finally learn the spells he waited eleven years for, finally make friends to play Quidditch with when he was bored, everything he waited to do he would finally be able to.

With a strong jolt, the walls outside the train windows started moving, and the Hogwarts Express picked up pace and glided out of the station. As Draco’s compartment window flew past the crowd of parents, he tried his absolute hardest to spot his parents, but to no avail.

He smiled anyway and rested his elbow against the windowsill. The morning sun was shining brighter than it did when he arrived.

—————


	2. Journeying Across Land

They were far from London now, deep into the English countryside, on a winding track built high above the ground. Draco watched in a trance as the trees dotting the outskirts of the fields blended together into one paint stroke of bright green. Clearly, autumn had not taken any effect yet. 

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle travelled in silence, as Draco was still set on ignoring them for the next few hours. He wasn’t at all confident his patience and need to always be talking would cooperate, considering the train ride to Hogwarts was expected to end in the evening, but he’d figure it out as he went along.

An adorable elderly woman wearing a peach dress had passed their compartment not long ago, offering numerous magical sweets off her stuffed-full trolley. Draco refrained from buying too many in order to keep his promise to his mother, and settled for the smaller box of Fizzing Whizbees, a common favourite of his. Crabbe and Goyle however, had almost purchased the entire trolley. They had been eating for the past hour, and their chewing grew louder by the minute. Once Goyle let out a belch just as noxious as Crabbe’s, Draco’s desire to ignore them shattered.

“For Merlin’s sake, who raised you?” he growled, and the two boys choked on shock - as well as their food. Crabbe let out a noise that Draco swore could have been a bleat.

“You two are gross, I don’t want to hear you stuff yourselves like famished mountain trolls!” Draco exclaimed, “Goodness, chew with your mouth closed! Merlin forbid I behaved like you two at the table, I’d get hexed!”

Draco couldn’t care less on whether Crabbe and Goyle thought it unnecessary for him to get so riled up about something as frivolous as bad table manners. As a reaction, they stared anxiously at Draco as he simmered down, and the fact that they refused to respond with anything but blinks and nods infuriated him. Not even an hour into the train ride to Hogwarts, he had already grown sick of two students. He reached for his book bag and slung it on his shoulder.

“I’m going to look around, you two enjoy yourselves,” he grumbled, swinging the compartment door open, and shutting it with just as much vigour.

“Well, that was lovely,” he mumbled to himself under his breath, and strolled composedly down the corridor. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish, but he would rather spend the remaining hours of the trip alone, instead of subjecting himself to listening to Crabbe and Goyle's miniature feast. There couldn’t be any possible way every compartment was stuffed full, surely Draco could find different company.

A short girl with mousy brown hair, pinned back by what must’ve five butterfly clips, jogged past Draco in a hurry, elbowing him softly in the arm.

“Sorry!” she squealed, twirling around to face Draco. Her face flushed a faint scarlet and her eyes widened, “Tight squeeze, ay?”

“You could say that,” he said politely to assure her there was no trouble. He was sure the girl would nod and leave, or at least continue to wherever she was headed. Instead, she remained still, staring at Draco with a ditzy grin.

“I’m Megan, by the way,” she lifted herself up to her tippy-toes then back down, “First-year.”

She had a heavy accent, one that Draco couldn’t recognise immediately. One thing was for sure, she definitely wasn’t from Wiltshire, England.

“Pleasure, Draco Malfoy,” he answered, and leant against the wall of the carriage, “I’m a first-year too.”

Megan simply nodded and let out a breathy giggle, she seemed nervous and Draco wondered what he had said that she found so amusing. 

“I guess that means I’ll be seeing you around a lot,” she exclaimed, her voice was quite loud. She giggled again, and Draco was thoroughly confused at her behaviour. Then again, he hadn't had many chances to hang around girls when he was younger, perhaps they all behaved like this.

“Yes, I suppose,” he thought out loud, furrowing his brows. Megan rocked up and down on her feet and giggled once more.

“I-I should be going, my friends are waiting,” she said, her voice getting higher with each word, and Draco nodded, “Nice meeting you, Draco!”

“Likewise,” he muttered. Megan spun herself fast enough for her flowing skirt to twirl around her knees, and skipped down the corridor to her compartment, her skip swiftly speeding into a jog.

Draco was certainly bewildered, Megan was definitely nervous during their incredibly brief conversation, but it wasn’t the same kind of nervousness that Crabbe and Goyle manifested. Deciding to not put too much thought into it, he continued shuffling down the corridor. Since every passenger was in a compartment, moving down the carriage was far easier than before. The only problem was that Draco had no idea where he should be going. Finding a compartment that he could fit in was a lot harder than he anticipated, for each one seemed fuller than the last.

Draco was peeking through another compartment window when he collided head-first with another student. This boy was around the same height, but with a much rounder build, and a much softer face. Be that as it may, anybody looked round or soft when compared to Draco.

“Uh, sorry ‘bout that,” the boy mumbled, and Draco held up a hand while his other rubbed against his forehead.

He groaned, “I wasn’t really looking where I was going either.”

Draco pulled a tight smile at the boy and moved to walk around him. At this point, all he wanted was to sit down somewhere.

“Oh! Wait, wait!” the boy called after him, and Draco turned his head over his shoulder.

“Yes?” he asked, shoving a hand into his pocket, and the other boy fidgeted.

“I’ve lost my toad, Trevor,” he said, “Have you seen him anywhere?”

Draco shrugged, “I don’t recall seeing a toad anywhere, no.”

“Are you sure?” the boy whimpered, “He’s brown and quite large, actually... for a toad.”

“I haven’t seen your toad,” Draco repeated, “In fact, I haven't _a_ toad at all today. I'm certain he’ll show eventually though, he couldn’t have gone far. If he really is as large as you say, he won't be that difficult to find."

The boy sighed and wrung his hands, “I suppose, thanks.”

Draco nodded and grinned at the boy, resorting back to finding a free compartment.

“I’m Neville Longbottom, by the way, just in case you do find him,” the boy added, and Draco froze. He had heard that name before, possibly briefly many years ago. Perhaps Draco had eavesdropped in a conversation he wasn’t meant to hear, or read it in a _Daily Prophet_ article his father had left on the dinner table. He certainly hadn’t heard the name enough to grow familiar with it, but it had a sort of nostalgia to it.

“Longbottom?” he repeated, just to be sure, and Neville nodded timidly. To avoid confusing him, Draco quickly collected himself and chuckled lightly as he walked away. A girl already dressed in school robes shuffled past him, fixing her remarkably bushy hair behind her ears and apologising as she squeezed past.

"Neville!" she called, "Any luck?"

Draco wasn't exactly interested in hearing anything else, and carried on peeking into compartments in search of a free seat. One housed four much older boys, two were flicking through a textbook, while the other two had fallen asleep against each other. Their compartment had been littered with all sorts of candy wrappers and boxes. Another held five students, all older than Draco but only by what could have been two or three years, three were fiddling around with a plant someone had brought on board, while the remaining two were gagging on grossly flavoured Bertie Bott beans. Another held a couple snogging each other senseless, Draco grimaced and quickly looked away.

The next compartment held only two boys young enough to be around Draco's age, though these two boys were very different in height - one was incredibly tall, while the other incredibly short. Neither seemed to be doing anything, they seemed happy enough just talking to one another. Draco considered skipping this compartment and looking for another, but the taller boy had already seen him and was waving him in. Draco waved back and slid open the compartment door.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked, and although the shorter boy seemed quite taken aback by his forwardness, the taller boy nodded frantically.

"Of course not!" he exclaimed, and gestured at a free space on his seat. Draco smirked.

"Thanks, previous company wasn't that enjoyable," he explained, and the tall boy chuckled. Draco held out a hand.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he introduced, and the tall boy shook it gladly.

"Dean Thomas," he pointed to his companion sitting opposite him, "This is Seamus Finnigan."

"I can introduce myself," Seamus said sarcastically, before smiling and waving at Draco, "Nice to meet you."

Seamus had quite an odd haircut, at least not one Draco could ever see himself sporting. The tufts of hair at the front of his head were cut unevenly, looking as if Seamus had cut them himself, but without a mirror.

"We were just talking about the Hogwarts houses, it's our first-year," Dean said, and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Which house are you hoping to be sorted into?" he queried, wanting to strike up conversation. These two boys already seemed like better company than Crabbe and Goyle; one reason being they weren't too mousy and awestruck to say anything, another being that Dean and Seamus had the social skills to properly converse.

"Either one's fine with me, I'm easy," Dean answered and shrugged, but Seamus rolled his eyes at his response.

"That's just his way of saying he has no idea," he teased, and Dean cleared his throat threateningly. Doing so didn't accomplish anything however, Seamus only laughed.

"Well, we can never really know for sure which house we'll be placed in," Draco chuckled, "I don't blame you."

"Ah, see?" Dean turned to look at Seamus and jerked his head towards Draco, "Finally, some intelligent conversation!"

"Watch it," Seamus glared, still all in good fun though. Draco giggled comfortably, he liked these two boys already. Their friendly conversation was interrupted however, by a faint rapping on their compartment door. When it slid open, Draco recognised the girl standing at the doorway, the one who had accompanied Neville not long ago. She huffed out a breath, blowing a strand of her frizzy hair away from her eye.

"No luck with the toad?" she sighed, eyeing around the compartment.

Dean shook his head, "Sorry, he hasn't shown up here."

The girl clicked her tongue and lightly stomped her foot, "Maybe I should just give it a rest. It's not even my toad, I brought a cat."

Just as she went to slide the door closed, she glanced at the three boys once more, "I suggest you change into your robes, we might arrive soon."

Draco cleared his throat before she could leave, "Actually, we're expected to arrive shortly after nightfall. It's only three-thirty."

The girl cocked an eyebrow and placed a hand on her hip, "It won't hurt to change though, would it?"

"I'll change when I please," Draco retorted back, smirking to add a sense of cheekiness. The girl simply rolled her eyes, then marching into their compartment, she took the free space next to Seamus.

"Harry Potter's on this train, and _he's_ changed into his robes already," she announced as if it was the simplest news she had ever delivered. Draco, on the other hand, felt as though he had imploded. His ears had deceived him, or had he heard this girl correctly? Surely not, he couldn't have.

Harry Potter was a legend made reality, the quite literal saviour of the magical world. According to the stories, he was also the same age as Draco. Both his parents, beloved James and Lily Potter were talented wizards, it made sense that Harry Potter would be sent an acceptance letter to Hogwarts. At least, it would have made sense if he hadn't apparently disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Draco had theorised that Harry Potter was hiding from the wizarding world, supported by the lack of coverage on the boy in the media. It was rumoured that he was living amongst muggles, but then again, there were also rumours that he had run away to Asia. Draco didn't know what to believe. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, would definitely not being taking a train ride to Hogwarts. A carriage made of gold and drawn by unicorns Draco could understand, for Harry Potter has never been seen in public before, let alone on a train ride.

If he really was here, there would have been more gossip about it, and Draco was certain about that. Rumours of that sort never slipped past him.

"You're lying," Draco accused, "I would have heard about it sooner, I assure you. No one would walk past Harry Potter and keep quiet about it."

The girl merely shrugged, testing his argument with nothing but her smugness, "It's not like anyone would know what he looks like. I've seen him, his hair covers his scar."

"Oh, really? And why on Earth would he want to cover up his scar?" Draco asked - if _he_ had defeated one of the most dangerous dark wizards in all of magical history as a baby, only to be left with nothing but a perfectly carved lightning scar, Draco would have been more than happy to flaunt it.

"I don't know," the girl said, jerking her head towards the door, "If you don't believe me, you could go see for yourself. He's quite short, curiously skinny, with black hair and circular-framed glasses... which _I_ fixed for him, by the way."

"Sure," Draco said mockingly, and crossed his arms, "Once I see him, I'll be sure to let you know."

The girl lifted her chin proudly and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. Without saying another word, she lifted herself from the seat and left the compartment. Draco, Dean, and Seamus stared at the door once she had slid it shut.

"Well, she's an interesting character," Dean muttered under his breath.

"You could say that again," Seamus said, and he stood up to retrieve a bag from the luggage rack above, "I'm hungry."

"You just had an entire box of Cauldron Cakes," Dean exclaimed, snatching Seamus' rucksack out of his hand.

"Oi, I digest quickly!" Seamus argued, and made a move to take back his rucksack. He failed however, for Dean had tugged it right back out of his hands.

"There's no way in hell a human can digest a full box of cake in twenty minutes," he chuckled, and Draco leaned back to watch this carry on.

"Doesn't mean I can't have a Sugar Quill now and then," quarrelled Seamus, who later protested when Dean reached a hand into his rucksack and claimed a box of said sweets.

"That would be your fourth one this trip," he said, waggling the box in his hand, just a foot or two away from Draco. In doing so, he had hatched an idea in Draco's head. Carefully, he clipped open his book bag - which was still slung on his shoulder - and fumbled around inside.

"You're not my mum, I can have as many as I want! I bought it myself, after all!"

"Yes, but don't you want to save the Sugar Quills for when you're actually in class?"

Although the undetectable extension charm on his book bag was endlessly helpful, it also made finding things quite a pain. Draco felt his hand brush against fabric, book covers, and loose parchment, when finally they settled around a slender wand. Despite Draco not seeing what it was that he was holding, the magic it possessed and the sensation of it was more than enough to recognise it by. He drew out his wand and adjusted his grip on it to one he could work with.

"Oh, come on! I'm just gonna have _one_ more!"

His actions were quick, and Draco fluidly flicked the wand's tip through the air.

" _Accio_ Sugar Quills," he spoke clearly, and the box Dean held trembled slightly before flying out of his hand into Draco's open one. Dean and Seamus had been too busy poking fun at each other to notice Draco's intentions, but both boys shut up instantly once Draco caught the box. A complacent smirk stretched across Draco's face, knowing he had just impressed them immensely. Choosing to relish in it a while longer, Draco opened the box of Sugar Quills and stole one for himself.

"How did you that?" Seamus asked, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"Summoning charm," answered Draco, taking his Sugar Quill into his mouth, acting as if he just simply tied his shoelaces, "Learnt it a few weeks ago."

"Summoning charm?" Dean repeated disbelievingly, "I read about those, that's some advanced stuff!"

Draco shrugged, "It's fine once you get the hang of it."

He took the Sugar Quill out of his mouth and inspected it, "Say, Seamus, is this the Deluxe variety?"

When Seamus didn't answer, Draco knew he had played his part well. His father had always advised him to show off a little, doing so earns respect. Draco stuffed the Sugar Quill back into his mouth and put away his wand.

"I'm going to go change," he announced as he slung his book bag strap over his shoulder and slid open the compartment door to leave.

The remainder of the train ride passed by swimmingly, with Draco spending a majority of his time with Dean and Seamus, but occasionally, another student would invite themselves in for a friendly conversation.

Draco thought he looked quite dashing in his school robes, though Seamus would make jokes about how his skin seemed to blend in with the white blouse. When walking down the corridor, Draco would put in that bit of effort to stroll quicker than usual, he liked the way his school robe would flow like a cape. All that was missing from his uniform was a house emblem, but that would be resolved sooner rather than later.

But no matter what conversations Draco would get himself into, he couldn't quite shake what that girl said. The sun was burying itself amongst the hills, meaning only an hour or so remained of the train ride, and word about Harry Potter being on this train hadn't spread as much as Draco had expected. Either that girl was lying for attention she couldn't get, or she was right. People wouldn't know what Harry Potter looked like, would they? After all, no one has seen him in the last ten years.

As time drove by, the late afternoon sunlight quickly evolved into nightfall, and the English countryside blended into the Scottish. The night sky shone majestically beyond the compartment window, having no lamplight glare or winter clouds to dampen it. Chatter had died down in Draco's compartment, but none of the boys minded. Dean was reading a textbook on magical history, Seamus was staring out of the window and stuffing himself with his stash of sweets, and Draco was trying - and very nearly succeeding - to levitate his quill with a spell he found in his Charms textbook.

"Hey, look! I see buildings!" Seamus shouted, his voice muffled by his sixth Sugar Quill. Dean sighed out and closed his textbook.

"Oh, yeah. Just add that to your collection of abandoned farmhouses and windmills," he tittered, and Draco joined in.

"Shut up! This looks like a town," Seamus described, and Draco lowered his wand.

"A town? It must be Hogsmeade, we're supposed to stop at the station there! We're close!" he said as he clambered across his seat to espy whatever it was that Seamus had. Sure enough, Draco could see rooftops poke out from the hillsides and tree tops. Dean gazed out of the window too, and all three boys bounced around excitedly as they watched the village of Hogsmeade draw nearer. More and more hillsides came into view, decorated by rustic structures, windows flickering with the glare of firelight. Shuffling surrounded the compartment, indicating that the other first-year passengers were scrambling around to catch a glimpse of Hogsmeade too.

"It looks so... _old_ ," Dean said, pushing a small laugh out of Draco and Seamus.

"It's supposedly over a thousand years old," Draco informed, "It's one of the oldest villages in Scotland."

"Sounds about right," Dean acknowledged, and he sat back down on his seat. Draco followed, and then shortly after, so did Seamus - who went straight into indulging himself in another Sugar Quill.

In what must have been only five minutes, a hiss erupted around and within the Hogwarts Express, scaring Dean and Seamus out of their skin. The boys peeped out of the window again to find they were approaching a station amidst Hogsmeade.

"We're here! Sweet Merlin, we're here!" Draco chanted, thrashing up and down on his seat causing stray candy wrappers and books to bounce around and fall on the floor.

"Get your stuff, get your stuff!" Seamus ordered, bounding up to gather his bags and candy boxes. An ear-splitting screech flew through the compartment as the train came to a halt, and it froze vigorously as it arrived in the station, the jolt that came with it threw Seamus off his feet. Draco shot up and slid the compartment door open, listening to the chatter and laughter that flowed through it. He saw that students near the front of the train were starting to leave.

"Guys, we can go! We're here!" he shouted, his voice wavering with excitement, and he shoved Seamus out of the way to get his book bag.

"Come on!" he pushed once he decided Dean and Seamus weren't moving fast enough - although they were trying their very best. In a beat shorter than a pulse, Draco sped his way out of the compartment door and down the corridor, twisting and turning his way through the line of students faster than a dematerialised ghost, but losing Dean and Seamus in doing so.

As rude as it sounded, Draco couldn't care less, for his mind was occupied with thoughts and imaginations much more stirring. Still, he hadn't quite grasped onto the awareness that he had finally arrived at Hogwarts. What he had been chasing for and dreaming about for the past eleven years he was about to undergo in merely five minutes. He missed his mother, he missed his father, but nothing and no one would precipitate as much joy and ambition for Draco than this moment. He was ready, he has been for eleven years.

The world spun by in a blur, and Draco pushed and prodded his way through the crowds of students infesting the train corridor when finally, he reached the exit of the carriage. Without thinking twice, he lunged himself onto the platform, feeling the cool evening air brush past his cheek like a mother's warm palm. It was relieving to breathe in after spending so many hours cramped on a train, swarming with what must have been hundreds of people.

Hogsmeade station was much more bucolic than platform nine-and-three-quarters; tree canopies blanketed the station overhead, allowing streaks of moonlight to shine in between the gaps in the leaves, only to eventually be drained out by lamplight and steam from the Hogwarts Express. Even the air smelled lighter, softly reminding Draco of his family home's gardens in Wiltshire.

A booming voice sounded from the other end of the station, snapping Draco out of his nostalgic heeds. The voice was gravelly and coarse, but powerful enough for Draco to feel the ground shake with each syllable.

"All first-years t'wards the fron' of the train!" it called, "All first-years t'wards the fron' of the train!"

A silhouette had emerged from the darkness, holding a lamp much smaller than it's hand, and stepping into the light of the station, Draco saw an incredibly, inexplicably, ridiculously tall man. Layers of thick grey hair trailed down to his shoulders, along with a beard just as such. A brown, worn-out satchel large enough to be a suitcase hung from his shoulder down to his hip - just looking at it, Draco knew it would be far too heavy for him to handle with care. The clothes he wore were oversized even on him; a coat that trailed down to his knees and trousers that pooled where the legs met the ground.

"All first-years t'wards the fron' of the train!" he called again, lifting and waving a hand with the span of a frying pan, "Come on, now! Wouldn' want yeh bein' late on yer first day!"

Though many of the first-years were conspicuously hesitant on approaching the peculiarly imposing man, Draco saw no challenge, and advanced towards him without reluctance, joining the pool of students who reached before him. Near the front of the crowd, Draco swore he recognised the face of someone he has met before.

—————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what i hoped to include while writing this chapter was a richer description of who draco is. inevitably, i got tired of seeing draco constantly written as a snobby evil rich boy from harry's perspective, and decided to take matters into my own hands.
> 
> draco is literally an eleven-year-old kid who was raised by two parents who he loves dearly, he wouldn't be thinking about blood purity, money, and dark magic 24/7. people tend to forget he would think about "kid things" too, for example; candy, school, friends, practical jokes.
> 
> draco wouldn't be a bitch to everyone from the get-go, because just like everybody else, he needs to learn about them first, and hang around them for a while to get a beginning glimpse at who they are. thus crabbe and goyle, draco thinks they're two absolute boneheads with no regard for table manners. he thinks dean and seamus are two funny, interesting boys who he feels comfortable with.
> 
> "but what about blood status?!" well, you can't really tell who's pureblood and who's not based on what they look like, right?
> 
> i used to worry about whether my version of draco was too "off character", but when you think about it, i'm just simply writing a story from the perspective of another young child. ofc i'm trying my very best to include draco's canon personality too (the arrogance, the confidence, the bigotry), but he is !!canonically!! not just those things either.
> 
> wow, long note. i just felt like ranting.
> 
> thanks for reading this chapter!


	3. Then Again Across Sea

He could only see the back of his head, but Draco was certain he had seen that boy - and that hair - before. Perhaps he had seen him while shopping in Diagon Alley, Draco had spoken to a lot of students that day, eager to make acquaintances beforehand. Whoever this boy was, Draco had to see his face first, but he couldn't quite do that standing a few rows behind him. He'll find a way towards the front somehow.

The remaining first-years joined the crowd surrounding the giant man not long after, but Draco couldn't find Dean or Seamus yet. But no matter, Draco could just find new company for the remainder of the evening. Besides, he was far too enlivened to be concerned about who he was spending his time with, he'll find time to do so later. Knowing that Hogwarts was just hidden away in the tree canopies out of sight, Draco realised just how close he was.

"Evenin', how are you all?" the tall man spoke, though Draco could agree that "tall" was a severe understatement, "Me name's Hagrid, an' I'm the gamekeeper here at Hogwarts. Le's get goin' then, shall we?"

Excited mumblings sounded through the crowd, and Hagrid shuffled around and led the students out of the station towards a jagged cobblestone pathway, locked between rows of towering trees. Draco took a brief moment to look up at the sky, and he could see every star in the galaxy glimmering and sparkling for him, and caught off-guard by a wave of nostalgia, he couldn't help but smile lightly.

When he was younger, Draco would demand to sleep with his bedroom curtains open, as falling asleep with the moonlight beaming on his face felt just the same as stepping into the sunlight once the thunder clouds disappeared. She thought he wouldn't realise, but Draco's mother would always close his curtains once he was sound asleep to prevent the morning sun from waking him up early.

It wasn't like Draco needed the extra sleep, the reason she did it was because he would make a ruckus once he awoke. He had a habit of bounding out of bed the moment his eyes fluttered open to intrude on his still slumbering parents. He would muck about in their room, demanding breakfast, and his father was not particularly fond of that habit.

Draco frowned, as his memories defied him and began to take a darker twist. 

Before Draco developed this custom, there was a point in time when his father would insist on keeping the curtains closed, not even solely during the evening. Draco had been very young, but he surprisingly remembered it well enough. And although his father would never explain why he cursed the curtains to stick shut secure as stone, Draco had figured out the possible reason why as he grew older. His father had made only one comment on the peculiar obsession of his, "Keeping the curtains open would make it too easy."

Draco had figured that his father was afraid, for his fixation had taken a few years to die down. The first time he cursed the curtains so tightly shut the fabric couldn't flow was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated, ending the First Wizarding War, when Draco was only a year old. There were mumblings that the Dark Lord was dead, gone for good, but his father hadn't bought any of them. As a toddler, Draco would catch him pacing around the sitting room, muttering things to himself with his wand drawn, flinching at every creak of the floorboard, tap at the window, knock at the door.

Then nearing Draco's fourth birthday, a particularly robust sneeze from the toddler caused all the curtains to be ripped right off their rods, and in seeing the moon through a window for the first time, Draco had demanded that the curtains stayed where they were on the floor. As much as he seemed discomforted by it, his father obeyed, and allowed Draco to sleep with the curtains open. Every night, he would sit by Draco's bedroom window and watch his son fall asleep, and he wouldn't leave until morning. When Draco turned five, his father left him to sleep in comfortable solitude.

With his mind too caught up in remembrances, Draco ungracefully tripped on the uneven cobblestone, and somebody laughed at him. A boy taller than Draco only by a few inches sauntered past, his rather large and crooked nose scrunched as he snorted at Draco. He scowled in return, brushing out his robes with his hand, and continued to follow the crowd. Draco shoved his way towards the outer edge of the huddle, making it easier for him to travel to the front, but before he could move closer, the pathway ended, the final blocks of cobblestone leading to a pier hovering above an arresting body of water. From where he was standing, if Draco were to take another step forward, he would fall in.

Hagrid trudged onto the pier - Draco couldn't help but wonder whether it would withstand his weight - and turned around to face the group of children.

"All righ'," he spoke clearly, his smile revealing just how podgy his cheeks were, "Welcome teh Hogwarts!"

His words were followed by a gleeful cheer throughout the first-years, Draco did not shout as loudly as others, but his laugh was just as elated. Hagrid's smile grew wider, and the way his shoulders shook suggested he was laughing too. He raised a hand, asking for silence, and slowly, the cheering fell.

"Hogwarts is jus' 'round the hill over there," he said, turning around slightly to point out over the lake, "Now, if you could all form a line - yeah, tha's it - these boats will be takin' you lot to Hogwarts."

Murmurs travelled through the messy line the students had made - Draco being a few bodies from the front - and a male voice that Draco couldn't put a face to spoke, "Sir, the boats aren't here yet!"

Hagrid chuckled, "Jus' yeh wait."

As if the whole happening had been planned, the water beneath the pier began to bubble, and Draco leaned to the side to get a better look. One by one, wooden dinghies, unpretentiously tended to, rose to sit above the water's surface. The line started to move, and students started to push, avid to get to Hogwarts. Hagrid didn't let any pass just yet though, no one would be able to anyway.

"Only four on each boat," he said, holding up the number with his fingers, "An' no arguin'! Be nice to each other!"

He waited for the smallest moment, testing the children's patience, and he stepped to the side.

"Get on with it," he said playfully, and the first few students of the line rushed to mount the boats. Draco observed as each boat started drifting off on their own once they held their maximum number, leading their passengers across the vast lake, allowing them to bask in the serene moonlight for a moment, preparing them for what the near future held.

Draco approached the pier and nodded politely at Hagrid as he strolled past, and he carefully stepped into one of the boats, glad to see that the hull was not full of water, despite it being entirely submerged in the lake not long ago. He was then accompanied by three students he had not yet introduced himself to, at least not properly. Two girls and another boy sat themselves down.

The boy Draco noticed was the one who had laughed at him when he tripped not long ago, his unique nose being enough to remember him by. The boy, however, didn't seem to recognise Draco at all, not heeding him once as he sat himself down. One of the girls Draco hadn't seen before up until now, and he couldn't help but wonder whether she and Crabbe were related in someway. She sported similar features, pig-like and round, but she was definitely not as ditzy. In fact, she almost looked miserable.

The other girl Draco recognised in less than a second, he didn't even need to analyse the exuberantly bushy hair to remember who she was. The girl sat beside him, the other two were behind, and apparently, she seemed to recognise Draco too, flashing him a prideful smile. This was the girl who fussed over Harry Potter's presence to Draco during the train ride.

"Pleasure seeing you again," she spoke confidently, and the boat set off, leaving the pier to follow the others. Draco didn't feel the need to respond.

"Did you see him yet?" she asked, folding her arms challengingly over her chest, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"See who?" he dragged out sarcastically and the girl scoffed. When she didn't say anything back, Draco felt relieved. The sensation was shortly lived however, it ended when Draco heard her clear her throat.

"I don't think I've properly introduced myself yet," she announced, more to herself than to Draco it seemed, "I'm Hermione Granger!"

Draco hummed, and faced the girl, "Draco Malfoy."

Something creaked from behind him, and a cold hand fell atop his arm. The boy with the odd nose was squinting at him from over Draco's shoulder, "Did you just say 'Malfoy'?"

Draco glared at the boy's hand, "Yes. Yes, I did."

The boy made a noise, of what Draco couldn't discern, and lowered his hand off Draco's shoulder and into his own lap.

"My dad told me about the Malfoys. Said a few things to me-"

"Really?" Draco huffed defensively, and the boy held his hands up in surrender.

"Oi! Nothing bad, said he knew your dad a while back," he chuckled, angling an eyebrow, "I'm Nott, Theodore Nott. Perhaps you recognise the name."

Draco's eyebrows knitted, "Never heard of the Notts. How does your father know mine?"

"He said they've met a few times," Theodore scratched the back of his neck, "He wouldn't tell me where or when but he did tell me one thing, your dad's a pretty strange bloke."

Draco tipped an eyebrow, intrigued by what Theodore meant by that, "What makes him say that?"

"Don't get all weird about it, but my dad's just under the impression your's can't seem to let things go... handle a joke. Says he's a real stubborn one, makes a lot of threats when he needs to, Dad doesn't really like that. Would you agree, is he like that to you? Doesn't seem like the kind of guy I'd hang around, to be honest," Theodore listed, and it irritated Draco that he spoke as if he and his father were acquaintances. Theodore knew nothing about him, and even if some of those qualities are true, he had no right to draw conclusions like that.

"Where did they meet?" Draco asked, ignoring Theodore's curiosity.

"Work, I think... I'm not sure," Theodore shrugged one shoulder, and Draco glanced to the side in thought. He had a faint idea of where their fathers could have met each other, but Draco refrained from sharing as it was inappropriate to do so, he and Theodore barely knew each other. His eyes wandered and drifted to the girl sat beside Theodore, yet to introduce herself. She glowered, like she knew he was looking.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice as inviting as he could make it.

"Millicent."

And she didn't say another word, including when Draco pushed for a last name. She made a rather foul suggestion on where else Draco could stick his nose, not wanting it in her business. He had to bite back a painful laugh from her comment.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm really excited for this year," Hermione giggled, clutching her robes, "My parents couldn't believe I had been accepted into a school of _magic_ , they thought I was lying at first when I told them about the letter. Then this really polite woman, the one who gave me my letter, explained it all, and they were actually incredibly excited for me, talking about how everything was starting to make sense-"

"Wait, wait, wait, a woman gave you your letter?" Draco butt in, and Hermione glanced off the side in confusion.

"Yes, wasn't it the same for you?" she asked, tucking a tuft of hair behind her ear. Draco shared a look with Theodore.

"No, I got mine from an owl," he chuckled, and Theodore snorted.

"An owl?" Hermione inquired, "Oh, yes! I remember reading about that, magical families receive their letters by owl post. You see, because my parents didn't know anything about a magical school, they wouldn't believe me if I waved a letter in front of them, having no proof that such a place existed. That makes sense. Goodness, I can't believe I forgot-"

"Your parents are muggles?" Draco insisted, a mocking smirk curling his lips. Hermione nodded, purely bemused at what Draco was trying to insinuate.

"So, you're a Muggleborn," Theodore stated rather than asked, and Millicent scoffed from behind.

"Yes, yes, I am. I assume you boys are... pureblood, half-blood? At least one of your parents must be magical for you to receive your acceptance letters by owl, yes?" Hermione queried, and Draco rolled his eyes. Theodore somehow managed to laugh through his nose.

"Am I missing something?" Hermione asked, her tone slightly more vicious than before, "What's so funny? I'm just asking."

"Merlin," Draco droned, "My father says this is exactly why they shouldn't let the other sort in."

Theodore chuckled snakily.

"Other sort?" Hermione snapped severely, but her tone was unaffecting, "What do you mean by _other sort_?"

"I mean, someone who hasn't been brought up surrounded magic, raised to understand the customs and laws of the wizarding world, someone who couldn't fully appreciate the opportunity of being accepted into a school like Hogwarts," Draco gave a sneer remarkably like his father's, "Let's say, someone like _you_."

Hermione's mouth open and closed like a fish, and she glowered at Draco, "So... what? You're implying you think I _shouldn't be allowed here_?"

"I'm not implying anything," Draco drawled sarcastically, and Theodore snickered. Hermione understood his tone however, her glare contorting into one of intenser fury.

"That's rather prejudiced, don't you think?" Hermione folded her arms, "Just because I grew up in a different environment than you doesn't at all mean I can't be a better witch!"

"Granger," Draco sighed, " _I_ can cast a proper Summoning charm, Fire-Making charm, and Leg-Locker curse, and I haven't even started school yet. What can you do other than fix glasses?"

Hermione loured, "The amount of spells one can cast does not at all mean they're a better wizard, _Malfoy_. I don't care how complicated or advanced the spells you claim you can do are, what really matters is how you use that magic. Must I give you an example of a wizard who used his magic for fouler means?"

Draco's smirk fell, knowing exactly who Hermione was speaking of. The mere audacity of this girl, she has no clue what that man did to his father's well-being.

"Are you honestly going to compare me to that maniac?"

Hermione shrugged, her supposed nonchalance angering Draco.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, ignoring Theodore and Millicent's gawking at his and Hermione's argument, "I doubt you of all people had to witness first-hand the side effects of what that psychopath did. This is exactly why you shouldn't be permitted to even step foot here, you know nothing about magical history, what the wizarding world went through. Honestly, if you were any more airheaded, you'd float."

Theodore cackled unattractively, and Hermione turned away.

Perhaps it was ill-mannered to say such things out loud, but Draco's father had always counselled him to do so. In fact, even his mother had encouraged Draco to speak his mind, claiming that silence and hesitation can reel him into situations he never wanted to be in. Draco was very much aware that he had upset Hermione, so much so he thought of apologising, but he was right. At least, his father would tell him he was right, and that Hermione had no business in debating against him.

Not willing to chat anymore, Draco rested his elbow on the edge of the boat hull and looked over to the water undulating beneath. It was rather frightening to think of, the water was so dark and Stygian that Draco could only imagine just how deep the lake really was. He pondered over what creatures could be living beneath him; merpeople, Grindylows, beasts he hasn't even heard of. Notwithstanding it's overall colour, the water's surface was also extraordinarily reflective, Draco could see every rogue hair atop his head in his reflection. Each star in the twilight sky had been casted back on the water's surface, and twinkled in sync with their sisters and brothers in the firmament. If Draco focused hard enough, he could begin to think he wasn't even sailing across water, but floating in space instead.

The surface was then disturbed, water rippling outwards in neat rings, the reflected stars dancing around as the water poppled, and Draco took a moment to realise the lake's surface had just bubbled. Perhaps one of the sea creatures Draco wondered about had swam up to greet the students, and keen to test whether he would be able to see it, he leaned vicariously over the hull of the boat. It was quiet.

Hesitating for only a moment, he hovered the tips of his fingers over the water, wondering if doing so would make it easier for the creature to find him. Draco waited a second, before submerging his index finger into the chill of the lake's water, up until the first joint. He watched intently as the water lapped from his touch.

The boat shook suddenly, causing Draco to lose his balance, and his hand and part of his sleeve soaked in the water. Theodore was sniggering behind him, suggesting he might have shaken the boat on purpose.

"Don't you dare," Draco glared, and Theodore snorted and rolled his eyes.

"You're lucky I didn't tilt it enough for you to fall in," he said, 

Draco scoffed and turned away, hearing Theodore mumble something about how a bit of light teasing would never hurt people with a sense of humour. Silence fell upon the four students - although it felt like three since Millicent hadn't made a single sound - and Draco allowed his mind to wander again. What kind of creature caused the bubbles, was it still close enough to see him, or had it swam back down to the depths of the lake?

A faint golden light stretched across the surface, and at first Draco thought something living near the bottom had livened up with light. But as said light rippled with the rings of the water, Draco realised that it hadn't been emitted from the bottom of the lake, but rather on top, it was a reflection. Gasps from surrounding first-years on their own boats sounded and circled him, and he glanced up. He didn't make a sound, but if a smile could speak...

A castle grander than anything his mind could have possibly imagined peered around the hills, built together by hundreds of towers, their extremities hidden amidst the heavens. Toned by a gilded hue precipitated by the lantern-lit windows winding each tower until their spires, the castle contrasted beautifully with the azure sky, highlighting it to stand out from the stars and the water. The Hogwarts castle was by far the largest structure Draco had ever laid eyes upon. 

In gazing at Hogwarts, Draco felt an odd rush of satisfaction, pleased that the school seemed just as magical as his mother had to him. This satisfaction helped Draco forget about almost and nearly everything; Hermione's intolerance of his apparent prejudice, Theodore's exasperating laughter, Millicent's seemingly permanent disinterest in all things existing, and Draco felt as though the whole world and everything in it had drifted away like mist.

His school year hadn't even started yet, Draco already had a list of students he'd prefer to avoid, but he didn't mind it, for the good will outweigh the bad. Dragging the nail of his index finger along the lake's surface, he fantasised about the upcoming months - what classes would he grow to favour, what students would he spend his time with, what letters would await him in the mornings? And like a lost sailor who had just spotted a lighthouse, he lunged towards the castle, desperate to indulge it like sustenance stolen away from him.

He dreamt, and he hoped, hoped that everything would go according to plan, because if it doesn't, improvising had never been a specialty of his.

—————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it too late to tell you that a lot of the events before the sorting ceremony don't follow the canon storyline?
> 
> i am well aware that draco did not spend time with dean and seamus on the hogwarts express, i am well aware that he introduced himself to harry prior to arriving at hogwarts, and i am well aware that he thought of hagrid as an "oaf" rather than a tall but adorable giant (which he is, by the way).
> 
> but if you want something done, you do it yourself!


	4. Where Dwell the Brave at Heart

Godric Gryffindor valued daring, nerve, bravery. And although many mistake it for stupidity or presumptuousness, there is certainly something admirable in favouring righteousness, selflessness that sees no limits. No life is deemed more important than another's, a taste of familial protectiveness.

Helga Hufflepuff cherished fairness, loyalty, dedication. Often misconstrued as ditziness or blind trust, the house of Hufflepuff wears a reputation that deceives many. Hufflepuff takes in the most noble warriors, the most trustworthy souls, and perhaps the purity of it's students even sparked a jealousy within the other houses.

Rowena Ravenclaw treasured wisdom, creativity, intellect, though some choose to mislabel it as arrogance, or an isolating sense of independence. Not understandable, for a mind fit to think outside the normalities should be something craved by all.

Salazar Slytherin; he did not value, cherish, or treasure his favoured traits... he prized them. Deceit and cunning, laudable ambitions, carried out by a dominant determination, the house of Slytherin has always been regarded as one of the most intimidating of the four Hogwarts houses. Intelligence and resourcefulness just as commendable as that of Ravenclaw buries itself within the minds of Slytherin's students. Surely, this makes Slytherin the most powerful, influential house within Hogwarts.

At least, Draco Malfoy was under the impression that that was the case.

His father had pointed that being placed in Slytherin would guarantee power, control, everything Draco yearned for yet couldn't quite grasp. Slytherin would be sure to shape him into an authoritative, envied, important figure, and Draco liked it. His mother however, always put in the effort to keep Draco's greed for such things in check, reminding him that power is not everything, and that too much of it can defile his mind into something much more treacherous than he could have intended.

And despite the millions of sides to Draco chanting at him that Slytherin is what he wants, a quiet voice tucked away in the corner would whisper something different. He was not exactly torn between the decision of what house he wanted to be placed in, but he couldn't help but be the slightest bit unsteady. Again, he could never know for sure until it happens, and he vowed to not worry about such trivialities for the rest of the night.

If that was so, then why was he still so incredibly nervous?

The first-years had all debarked their boats and were now huddled together in front of what could only be the main entrance, for decoration this extravagant would never have been made to go unnoticed. Not only were the double oak doors carved so ornately, down to the finest detail, the walls surrounding it were lined with stone statues of knights, each grasping their own unique weapon. Draco was rather interested in the knight with a mace, wondering just how sharp the spikes on the weapon were, and whether it could actually hurt somebody if given to the chance to.

"Draco!" a strained voice called from behind, and he turned see Dean and Seamus squeezing their way through the huddle towards him.

"Long time no see," Seamus greeted once they reached him, and Draco huffed lightly.

"Unfortunately so. Hopefully, your little boat ride was more enjoyable than mine," he said with a roll of his eyes. Dean and Seamus chuckled.

"Oh, yeah? What makes you say that?" Dean asked, nudging Draco's shoulder with his own.

"Well, first of all, that girl from the train shared the boat. Enough said," he mumbled the last part, banking a derisive eyebrow, and Dean and Seamus both giggled, "But there was also this boy, Theodore Nott. He didn't do anything rash, but Merlin, he was just irritating. And his laugh! Awful! Sounded like a drift of pigs snuffling the inside of my ear!"

Draco then did an impression of said laugh, leaning into his giggling friends as he snorted. Dean and Seamus both pushed him away chuckling, but their guffawing was overborne by what could have been a crack of thunder. A golden beam of light glided it's way through the crowd of students, and as the oak doors of Hogwarts' entrance opened wider, the light eventually grew to be so bright compared to the luminescence of night that Draco had to squint.

A silhouette emerged from the light, and as it stepped closer, Draco made out the shadow to be a woman. She wore the traditional pointy hat and elegant robes with sleeves that fell down to her knees, the colour difficult to pinpoint. Each step she took clicked musically, rippling through the air much like the rings of the lake Draco had just travelled across, and the students fell totally silent. 

Then she stopped, and quietude fell upon the grounds. The woman fastened her hands behind her back and lifted her chin.

"Welcome, students," she spoke, her voice scratchy but soothing, much like a cat's mewl, "To Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Animated mumblings travelled through the huddle, but the woman lifted a hand to bring silence back. Once it returned, she resumed.

"I am Professor McGonagall, and I teach Transfiguration here at Hogwarts," she introduced, "Meaning we'll be seeing each other quite frequently in the near future."

Her tone was factual, like she was giving a lecture rather than a welcome speech, but Draco didn't mind it. She was professional, commendable.

“In a few short moments, you will all be sorted into your Hogwarts houses, where you will stay for the remainder of your education here. There are four houses, Gryffindor… Hufflepuff… Ravenclaw… and Slytherin.”

Draco elbowed Seamus lightly in the chest.

“And while you are here, living within this castle’s walls, underneath it’s roof, atop it’s floors... your house will serve as your family, treat it as such. Your accomplishments will earn you points, while your misconducts and rule-breaking will cost you points. Whichever house with the most points by the end of the school year is awarded the house cup.”

“However,” she said, just as the students were starting to mumble and whisper again, “A majority of your time, yes, will be spent with other members of your house. You will have classes together, sleep in the house dormitories, spend free time in your house common room but… family may be one thing, friends are another. I hope you will be not only an asset to your house, but to Hogwarts too.”

Draco nodded, despite knowing that Professor McGonagall could not see him do so. 

“Now, if you could all follow me to the Great Hall, where the ceremony shall be taking place,” and McGonagall lifted a hand, turned on her heel and marched back into the castle at a pace that sent her robes gliding behind her like wings, into a room hidden by the castle’s walls. The students shoved their way through, fervent to trail closely to the professor, to be the first to set foot into Hogwarts, and Draco was just as eager. And he pushed his way into the golden light until it was all he could see.

And he stopped, for he had just entered a room with a ceiling higher than his sight could stretch, a room large enough to fit in two of the manor’s hedge mazes. Aflame torches decorated the walls, livening the Entrance Hall in a not only blazing, but warm brilliance. A pristine marble staircase wider than any flight he had sprinted up was fixed directly in front of him, but Draco could not see what it would lead him to.

Professor McGonagall was stood a few steps above the Entrance Hall’s floor, and she waved a hand, beckoning the first-years back into a crowd before her. Draco looked around for Dean and Seamus, and squeezed his way across to them once he found them.

“Follow me,” the professor said, and proceeded to glide up the stairs. Murmurs and faint laughter could be heard from Draco’s right, floating through a set of striking oak doors in waves through the air; the Great Hall, it seemed. Draco wondered how many students were waiting for the first-years to arrive, but the more he wondered, the quicker his heart pounded. The entire Hogwarts population would witness his sorting, and Draco only prayed it wouldn’t result in something humiliating. He couldn't bare the thought of someone teasing him like they had teased his mother at hers.

But McGonagall did not turn right towards the oak doors, instead, she led the first-years into a small vacant chamber a few feet away. The first-years shuffled in the best they could, attempting to fit everybody within it’s walls, and Draco found himself pressed a little too closely to Dean for it to be comfortable. A shorter boy in front of him had hair so unruly and disorderly Draco would get locks in his nostrils, eyes, and mouth.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, standing just outside the chamber, “The Sorting Ceremony will begin a few short moments, I suggest you tidy yourselves up while you wait.”

The boy in front of Draco nervously ran a hand through his hair, reorganising the rebellious locks to point different directions.

“I will return to collect you when we are ready, wait here... quietly,” and Professor McGonagall strode her way down the hall, followed by the distinct noise of hefty doors opening then closing. Surprisingly enough, the first-years stayed silent, despite the stray whispering and excited giggling.

“Hey, Draco?” Dean whispered from beside him, shuffling his shoulders to make room for himself, “You’re an expert in all things Hogwarts, how do we get sorted anyway?”

“Oh! Right, my parents told me about that,” Draco said, cut off briefly as the boy in front of him turned his head slightly, causing Draco to catch a lock in his eye again, “They use a hat, it’s called the Sorting Hat. Basically, what they do is they place it on your head - it talks, by the way - and after looking into your... mind... for a bit, it determines which house would be best for you.”

“A talking hat?” Seamus asked incredulously, leaning forward to peak past Dean and look at Draco, “No battling dragons?”

“Oh, yeah. Because being a first-year and all, you’d know the right spells to battle a dragon,” Draco commented sarcastically, and Seamus reached over to slap him on the arm. Draco stuck his tongue out at Seamus and when he turned back, he noticed the boy stood in front of him had been watching. He whipped his head back around as soon as Draco noticed, but a faint red mark above that boy's right eye ignited a thrill within Draco. He couldn't help but suspect...

But before he managed to tap the boy on his shoulder, the room trembled.

"Oh, goody!"

A shrill voice echoed around the walls of the chamber, and the first-years shouted in unison at the volume of it.

"Victims, _ha_! Peeves is hungry!"

Then a figure, sickly pale and garbed in torn and tattered clothing, travelled through the wall opposite the entrance. A poltergeist, and Draco had heard many stories about one specifically. A collection of students screamed upon seeing Peeves, who seemed delighted to have provoked such a reaction, and he rolled around midair, doubling over and kicking his feet around.

Peeves dove down towards a student, who cowered instantly, holding his head in his hands.

"No, don't eat me!" he cried, and Peeves cackled and shot back up towards the roof.

"Peeves!" another voice, baritone and powerful, rung through the chamber. A pale wisp raced through the chamber's entrance and towards Peeves, who had stopped tumbling over himself and was now hovering incredibly still. The wisp formed, and a man draped in a time-worn robe stained with blood, took it's place.

"Must you torment the new students every year?" the man said, "Leave these children alone, that's enough of you."

"Of course, I'll be on my way," Peeves nodded, cowering slightly as the other ghost drifted closer, and he somersaulted through a wall, out of sight.

"Apologies," the bloodied ghost turned and said, "I can assure you he doesn't _eat_ people, he merely feasts upon mischief. The worst he could do to you is drop a chandelier on your head."

The first-years were silent as a response, and Draco couldn't take his eyes off the blood. The stain seemed to be the only coloured quality of the ghost, and it frightened him to think of where it could have come from. There was no tear in the ghost's clothing to indicate a wound, only a large slit across his neck. Still, that gash did not explain the stain down his front, or the droplets scattered along the side of his face.

The clicking of a pair of heels were then heard from outside the chamber, Professor McGonagall must have been returning. The ghost vanished without another word, and curiously, a chill wafted through Draco when he did.

"We are ready for you," said McGonagall, and the first-years filed out of the chamber in pairs. Draco didn't get another chance to look at the boy stood in front of him, as another taller, lankier, red-haired boy draped an arm around him comfortingly and led him out of the chamber. Draco followed close enough, leading Dean and Seamus like ducklings.

They continue down the same corridor as before, but this time, Professor McGonagall led them towards the bustling and excited humming of the Great Hall. Without a hand, the grand oak doors for the hall unlocked and glided open, and what Draco saw was enough to convince him that he had never known magic until now. Dean and Seamus gasped behind him, and Draco's pace noticeably slowed as he stepped over the threshold where the carpeted corridor changed to polished stone.

It was just as his mother had described; candles, far too many to count, drifted through the air, high enough to avoid burning anybody, but low enough to not set fire to the roof. 

And the roof!

Glistening with stars swimming through indigo clouds too spectacular to be real. It was as if the roof wasn't even there, only a window to the night sky.

As the exhilarated first-years trotted further down the Great Hall, it took Draco a few moments to pull his eyes away from the ceiling, and to notice that they weren't the only students in this room. Four tables, stretching from one end of the Great Hall to the other, were stuffed full with numerous grinning pupils. Some were applauding, some were waving, and some were simply nodding at whichever first-year they made eye-contact with.

Then the first-years began to huddle into a crowd at the end of the hall, before a dais. And on that dais was yet another table, lined with what Draco knew to be the staff. He recognised one, Professor Snape, the Hogwarts Potions master, yet a fair acquaintance of his father's. Draco had only ever seen one side to him - the dark, mysterious, brooding side - and he had always wondered whether he would seem different when playing professor. Apparently not.

Snape didn't noticed him in return however, for he seemed to be laying all his attention on a different face in the crowd. Whatever face that was, Draco could not see.

Professor McGonagall stepped onto the dais, and with a small wave of her wand, a four-legged stool floated to the centre, a few feet in front of the High Table. Atop that stool sat the dustiest, oldest, fallen hat Draco had ever seen. His parents might have informed him on a lot of things, the Sorting Hat being one of them, but he scolded them for never telling him about the state of said hat. It looked like a stray piece of rubbish, blown into the castle purely just by wind.

"Draco," a whisper from behind him sounded, and he turned slightly to see Seamus, "That's the hat? The one you mentioned?"

Draco shrugged, "Either that or they lost it and had to quickly find a replacement. It looks like it's been tossed around a lot, no?"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and quickly, Draco and Seamus stood up straight. To Draco's wonderment, and slight discomfort, the hat began to stir, living with a mind of it's own. A tear near the brim opened as though it were a mouth, and the strangest sound came out of it. It sounded like the note of a song, and curiously, the hat began to sing.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart.  
  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil.  
  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind.  
  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folks use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Applause erupted through the Great Hall as the hat fell silent, and Draco was quite unsure whether to join in or not. Mostly, he just felt confused. But when Dean and Seamus started applauding on either side of him, he felt obliged to go along. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, a large roll of parchment in her hand, and she asked for silence.

"When I call your name, you will step forward and onto this stool. This hat will sort you into your Hogwarts house," she said, before unrolling the parchment and adjusting her spectacles, "Abbott, Hannah."

A girl with two incredibly bouncy blonde pigtails skipped onto the platform and sat down with a stumble. Delicately, McGonagall placed the hat on her head, and it twitched slightly and let out a hum. 

"Well, let's see..." it said, followed by a brief pause, "Hufflepuff!"

The Great Hall cheered, and Hannah Abbott bounded off the seat and sprinted to the table full of students waving her over.

"Bones, Susan."

Another girl stepped onto the platform, much more apprehensively than the last, and she clumsily placed herself onto the stool. Once the hat was atop her head, it jolted.

"Oh! Hello! Well, this is simple... Hufflepuff!"

Draco rolled his eyes.

Terry Boot was sorted into Ravenclaw, and Lavender Brown in Gryffindor. Draco learnt that Millicent's last name was Bulstrode, and to his surprise, she was sorted into Slytherin - and she was capable of smiling. He found himself losing interest after the next few students were sorted, but paid enough attention to clap Seamus on the back when McGonagall called him forward. Draco wasn't sure what house he was hoping for Seamus to be placed in, perhaps just one with good relations to Slytherin.

Professor McGonagall sat the hat on his head, and with no hesitation detectable, "Gryffindor!"

Draco had never been more disappointed, but he applauded anyway. Feeling foul, he scoffed discreetly when Hermione Granger was called next. The hat stalled for a moment, long enough to be discernible from the previous sortings, before placing her in Gryffindor.

Megan, now Megan Jones, was called forward after a few more students, and later was sorted into Hufflepuff.

"Merlin, this year's full of them," Draco whispered at Dean, who laughed at his comment, clearly oblivious to the bitterness in Draco's voice. Another few students down, Neville Longbottom was sorted into Gryffindor - an obvious shock for Draco, considering that that boy was the most timid thing he had ever met.

Yet another boy was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Draco might as well have fallen asleep standing up, because when Professor McGonagall called his name, the thrill felt just like a smack across the face.

With an encouraging shove from Dean, Draco stepped onto the dais, refusing to let his nerves show in the trembling of his hands. Thinking not much of it, he sat on the stool and waited impatiently for the hat to be placed on his head.

He had expected a short answer much like the students before, so when he waited longer than half a minute for a house to be sorted into, his face grew warmer. It took him a moment to realise the hat was in fact stalling.

"Well..." the hat moved atop his head, "I thought this would be easy, there seems to be... a certain trend... when it comes to the Malfoy family. Tell me, boy, which house stands out to you brighter than the others?"

Draco swallowed, the hat had never stalled this long, let alone asked another student about their preference.

"Slytherin, Slytherin does," he said, his voice cracking slightly, and the hat jerked.

"Oh, but of course," it drawled, "That's only the expectation, isn't it? Yes... Slytherin will lead you on the way to greatness, that is true. But your mind is complicated, dear boy... even I, the wisest object within this castle's walls, struggle to understand you."

"Excuse me?" Draco asked quietly, but he was ignored.

"You desire things that Slytherin could not give to you. There is gold within you that you haven't found just yet... Slytherin and it's values will barely uncover it."

Draco panicked, analysing whatever the hat meant by that. Could it be insinuating that Slytherin was not even an option for Draco? His hands gripped the seat of the stool hard enough to crack it, the hat's suggestion was the polar opposite of what Draco wanted.

"What you want and what you need are two very different things. It is clear you don't understand that yet. For some peculiar reason, Mr. Malfoy... I feel as though I should have made a decision quite like this a while ago..."

Draco begged, pleading the hat to stop, to wait, to give him one second to catch up. He wasn't sure anymore whether he wanted this...

"Gryffindor!"

The cheers and applause echoing through the Great Hall was thunderous, but Draco heard none of it.

—————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, but i'm back home with a lot of free time!
> 
> and i have something to say;
> 
> minerva mcgonagall strove for house unity during her time as headmistress. knowing that, i found myself changing her dialogue around to incorporate that.
> 
> you'll be seeing a lot of "house unity" mcgonagall in the future from me.


	5. Hogwarts' New Celebrity

If one was to crawl inside Draco's head, they'd see grey. For at that moment, Draco didn't know what emotion it was that he was feeling, hearing.

Can people hear emotions?

Whatever emotion it was, it just felt grey, like a spell he had never heard of had drained all the colour and contrast out of the world, wringing it like a wet cloth and letting it drift out to sea, never to be seen again.

Draco did not have that certain skill, the one that allowed colours to speak to him more than they did for others, but in this moment, with the entirety of Hogwarts applauding him for something he didn't have any control over, the indigo of the Great Hall's ceiling was telling him he was worth more than this. The cedar of the oak entrance was attempting to calm him down. The amber of the candlelight drifting around above his head was feeding optimism that he refused to swallow.

Time had slowed down so extremely that everything and everyone was standing still, and the only thing Draco could hear was a wary ring in his ears.

This is ridiculous, how much more dramatic could he be?

A gentle pat on Draco's back sped time up and eventually, his ears started to hear sound again. Professor McGonagall was standing at his side, smiling tenderly. She could probably sense Draco's wariness. 

"Welcome to Gryffindor, Mr. Malfoy," she said quietly, in a whisper that only he could hear, and she helped him to his feet.

His walk, something he had been perfecting ever since he was younger than time itself, had been forgotten. So he made his way to the Gryffindor table on shaky legs. He spotted Seamus waving him over, the students sitting either side of him shuffling away to make space.

And as much as Draco didn't want to sit there, his legs gave away and he collapsed onto the seat.

"How great is that?" Seamus cheered, grabbing Draco by the shoulders and rocking him back and forth, "We're in the same house! I hope Dean gets in too."

"Yeah," said Draco, as that was the most complex comment his mind could provide him at that moment. The Great Hall went silent, signalling that McGonagall was about to call up another student. The silence had never been louder.

Surely, he was overreacting. Being sorted into Gryffindor could never be made into such a big deal. Despite his father's notable resentment towards the house, perhaps he'd be proud. His son would surely be the first Malfoy sorted into Gryffindor, a milestone in the family's history. His mother might possibly be thrilled, she always had a taste for nonconformity. The thought calmed him, his parents couldn't get angry over something like this. It wasn't trivial, but it wasn't outrageous.

And even though Draco had never once considered himself daring or brave, perhaps the hat was right. There could be gold within him, treasure's that Slytherin wouldn't consider touching upon. He relaxed into the seat more, ignoring the daggers shooting the side of his head as Hermione Granger sat opposite him.

A few more students were called up to be sorted, but the hat never stalled for as long as it did on Draco. And as McGonagall went down the alphabetical list of students, his ears perked like a dog when she approached a specific letter. 

Although Hermione had informed him about Harry Potter's presence, he could have never prepared for the adrenaline that came with hearing Harry's name being called out. Apparently, neither could the rest of the Hogwarts population. Excited chatter rose from the grounds, and Seamus gripped Draco's arm and shook as a small boy with a head of hair that seemed to defy the laws of magic stepped onto the dais and sat down on the stool. Draco's eyes widened as he saw the boy's face.

They had met earlier.

A few weeks back, Draco and his parents had gone to Diagon Alley to purchase everything Draco would need for his first year at Hogwarts. They had left him alone at  _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_ to get his uniforms tailored when a fragile-seeming boy dressed in clothes twice as large as himself entered the shop. He wasn't exactly proud of the impression he left, feeling like he had been just that bit too vain and proud, noticing afterwards just how uncomfortable and annoyed the boy seemed with him and his words. After that experience, Draco had promised himself to brush up on his introductions. It had worked, evident in him charming Dean, Seamus, and indirectly, Megan. 

But of course he had to leave a bad impression for Harry Potter.

Even though Draco had so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to curse himself for, he forced himself to stay quiet and he watched with trembling eyes as Professor McGonagall lowered the hat onto Harry's head.

"Well," the hat mumbled, Harry flinching beneath as it jolted, "This is... difficult. Plenty of courage, and remarkable talent. Oh, but this is interesting. Why, Mr. Potter, you are an intriguing boy, one who wants all not yet given to him. You yearn respect, accompanied by a thirst to prove yourself worthy. I seem to find myself in the midst of a predicament."

Draco's mind was pacing, trying to piece together what the hat was implying.

Could it be, the great Harry Potter is to be sorted into Slytherin? It made sense, but Draco decided not to say anything.

"Where shall I put you, boy?" the hat drawled, and Harry seemed to answer, muttering to himself.

The hat chuckled, "Not Slytherin? Are you sure? You could be legendary, perhaps more than you are already."

"No doubt being sorted into Slytherin would turn him into a bit of a git," said an older boy to another. These two boys were identical; their chins were pointed at the same angle, their hair was ruffled in the same pattern, and the same bright shade of ginger. Draco snarled at their comment, for he knew there was a plethora of extraordinary wizards born from Slytherin.

"No?" the hat grumbled, and Draco watched intently as Harry cowered into the seat, "If you're sure."

He felt all of Hogwarts draw in their breath, "Gryffindor!"

The table Draco was sitting at erupted into cheers, the twins from before standing atop their seats jumping up and down chanting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Seamus bounced on his seat beside Draco, nudging him with his arm in such an excited manner Draco couldn't help but break into a smile. He watched with an aching grin as Harry flung himself off the stool and sprinted his way to the Gryffindor table, taking a seat next to a familiar lanky boy not that far away from him.

"Well, you better get your act together if you're going to be spending that much time with Harry Potter!" Seamus teased, jabbing at Draco's ribs with his elbow, "You don't want him thinking you're a babbling idiot!"

"I have no worries about that," Draco lifted his chin smugly, "I'm incredibly eloquent."

"We'll see about that," Seamus grinned, "All we need is Dean. I hope he gets in!"

The ceremony continued, and the huddle of first-years grew smaller and smaller. Dean was one of the last to be called up, and Seamus had never been more alert and jittery. The hat did not hesitate in placing him into Gryffindor too, and when Dean came to sit down next to Seamus, Seamus swung his arms over his shoulders while Draco laughed.

The three boys chatted and whispered amongst themselves as the remaining students were sorted, and when Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin, Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away. Expecting the plate in front of him to fill with food, he was just that little more frustrated when the hall was called to silence again.

A man about as ancient as antiquity had lifted himself from his seat at the High Table. Albus Dumbledore, and had Draco's father told plenty about him.

His father had never once depicted Dumbledore as an honourable man. In fact, based on the putrid tone of voice his father would have when he spoke of him, Draco had figured he despised him. He understood why, Dumbledore advocated for things that went against the Malfoys' views, but despite this, he was well informed about what made Dumbledore so admirable to others.

Lord Voldemort was terrified of him. And should he still be alive, Draco finds peace in knowing that Dumbledore is under the same roof he is.

In his daze, Draco had missed Dumbledore's aphorisms, but judging from the looks of his surrounding peers, it mustn't have been too important. Gasps and silent cheers resounded through the Great Hall as suddenly, platters and dishes stuffed with treats and fragrant food appeared on the tables. Draco took a bite out of some turkey he grabbed off a dish in front of him, this food may have appeared out of thin air, but that made it just as glorious.

"So, Draco," said Dean, after swallowing a mouthful of potato, "Gryffindor... Hogwarts house of your dreams?"

Draco gulped, "Absolutely not. I was really hoping for Slytherin."

"You looked horrified up there," Dean giggled, and Draco scowled from embarrassment.

"That obvious?" he groaned.

Seamus laughed, "You bet!"

Draco buried his face in his hands as the two boys continued to guy him, knowing his cheeks were ridiculously flushed.

"Oh, cut it out," he mumbled into his hands, and Dean and Seamus settled down, "I'm just overthinking everything anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Seamus queried, and Draco cut into a roasted carrot.

"I don't know, it's just... I can't help but feel like my parents will be upset about this."

The confession fell out before he could bite down his tongue. Dean and Seamus tilted their heads like dogs, curiouser by the second.

"What?" Dean said, knitting his eyebrows together. Draco didn't want to say anymore.

"Forget about it, it's not your business," he waved his hands around defensively, as if trying to flap away the questions bound to float towards him. If anything should happen with his parents, Draco will deal with it in time. There was no need to worry about this now.

And so Draco ate his part of the feast in elation, discussing the possible future with Dean and Seamus, and failing many attempts at catching Harry Potter's eye.

No matter what Draco did, whether it be laughing a little louder than before, gesturing his hand around wilder, Harry Potter just wouldn't look. He seemed too invested in his own conversations with that lanky redhead of a boy, who had begun to annoy Draco more than he would like to admit. But no matter how frustrating he found not getting what he wanted, he just couldn't be angry with Harry Potter.

The boy looked terrified, his expression tense and eyes rather watery, and despite his warmer complexion, his face seemed entirely drained of colour. And Hermione Granger was correct, he was peculiarly thin for someone his age.

Draco had always known that the Harry Potter he imagined in his head whenever he recounted the fateful story was most certainly not an accurate depiction of the real thing. He knew very well that Harry Potter had been a baby when he somehow conquered You-Know-Who, but never once had he imagined eleven-year-old Harry to be such a small thing. He didn't look like a hero, he didn't look the saviour of the wizarding world, he looked like a boy, and Draco couldn't wrap his head around why he seemed so surprised by it.

Besides, it wasn't like Harry's outward appearance would simmer Draco's urge to shake his hand, to thank him profusely for relieving the world, no matter how he had done it, of the Dark Lord's torment. Draco wanted nothing more than to befriend him, to prove to him just how grateful he was for his lifting of the burden of megalomaniacal evil off not only the wizarding world but his father, who could finally sleep because of it.

So caught up in his own thoughts, Draco had not realised that he been staring, and that someone had caught him doing so.

"I fear the boy may be blinder than the glasses let on," a peculiar voice spoke beside his ear, and Draco dropped his fork on his plate and yelped. Dean and Seamus giggled, and Draco turned to come face to face with another ghost.

"Pardon?" he said, and the ghost chuckled.

"Forgive me, I've forgotten to introduce myself! Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, resident ghost of the Gryffindor tower," he recited, bowing his head at Draco and the surrounding students.

"Oh! Yes, I've heard of you," Draco exclaimed proudly, "Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer Sir Nicholas," the ghost grumbled back, looking away.

"Wait, wait," interrupted Seamus, "How could you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas hovered a few feet higher in the air, "I'm glad you asked."

And with that, he gripped onto his own left ear and pulled, his entire head lolling to the side barely attached to his neck. Several students screamed, and Sir Nicholas smiled cheekily. Beheading, Draco assumed, but a rather poor job at it.

"Lovely first-years," the ghost said jovially, and swung his head back to sit properly, "I hope you're planning to help Gryffindor win the house cup, break Slytherin's streak of six years? The Bloody Baron's been unbearable from all the boasting. He's Slytherin's ghost, and he's rather big-headed about it."

"The Bloody Baron?" Draco queried, "Is he the one with the blood down his front?"

"Right you are."

"How did that blood get there?"

Sir Nicholas did not respond immediately, staring off into the distance.

"Yes, he is a strange fellow, isn't he?"

Then he left.

"Well, that's ominous," Dean mumbled.

"I bet it was murder," guessed Seamus, digging into the remains of his final plate of food, "The Bloody Baron murdered someone."

"Doesn't explain how he died though," Draco challenged, unbothered by Seamus' darker thought path, "What a ghost wears is usually what they died in. The blood stains on his outfit show that he must've died not long after they got on there."

"So, if that's the case," said Seamus, "Say you died in the shower."

Dean choked on his juice and started to giggle, Draco merely nodded, "Naked ghost."

He heard Hermione scoff from opposite him but chose to ignore it. An older boy sitting next to her indulged her in a conversation, and Draco chuckled to himself for this boy had red hair too. Counting four redheaded children on the Gryffindor table, each baring a dishevelled uniform either a size too big or a size too small, Draco rolled his eyes, he should have known. 

 _Weasleys_ , he thought to himself, _School's full of them._

A few minutes later, after a hearty dessert which Seamus shovelled mouthfuls of, Dumbledore stood from his seat at the High Table and the Great Hall fell to silence.

"My students, just a few start-of-term notices before you all carry off to bed," his tranquil voice echoed off the walls and ceilings, "For the first-years, and perhaps a number of older students, the ground's forest is strictly forbidden to all pupils. Argus Filch, the school's caretaker, has also requested I remind you that no magic is to be used in the school corridors shall you not be in class."

The two Weasley twins snickered to each other.

"Quidditch trials are to be held two weeks from now. Anyone interested in representing their house is to contact Madam Hooch."

Dumbledore gestured a hand to a woman sat a few seats down. Draco had to blink twice before he could recognise she was human. Her complexion was far paler than his own, and her eyes seemed to glow bright yellow at their will.

"Lastly, this year, the third-floor corridor to the right is prohibited to anyone who wishes to not die an excruciating death."

A few students chuckled to themselves, but Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with something baleful, and quickly the laughter ceased. Dumbledore's composure returned, and he dragged his wand out of his robe's sleeve.

"Now before we send you off, let's all sing our school song!"

Draco leapt up from his seat, followed by Seamus then Dean. Dumbledore gave his wand a single flick, and a golden ribbon flew out of the tip, coiling itself like a grand snake midair to form words. The school's population began to sing, every student at their own pace and pitch.

It sounded atrocious and Draco wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, but the freedom and carelessness that elicited from the off-pitch notes helped him feel slightly more at ease. Dumbledore swished and waved his wand around, conducting every student's separate tune and tempo, Draco smiled and started to intone his own melody.

The anthem came to an end, and the volume fell as pupils finished their songs. Dumbledore applauded loudly.

"Delightful! Absolutely delightful! My students, I wish you all a lovely night's rest and a thrilling year here at Hogwarts. Off to bed, all of you!"

The older Weasley who was talking with Hermione not long ago cupped his hands over his mouth, "All Gryffindor first-years, follow me!"

The twins sitting a few seats down whistled at him, "Mama Perce!"

Draco bit back a laugh at Seamus tripped over his seat, almost landing face-first on the stone floor.

"Bit eager are we there, Finnigan?"

"Shut up, _Malfoy_ ," Seamus teased, and Draco shoved his shoulder. He followed the crowd trailing after the Weasley, exiting the Great Hall and marching through scores of corridors he couldn't keep track of.

He wasn't quite sure how they had arrived there, Hogwarts had too many passages for it's own good, but Draco, accompanied by Dean, Seamus, and Gryffindor's first-years, shuffled through an archway and towards a wall. On that wall hung a portrait of a rather large lady, her head swaying idly as the crowd approached. She nodded at the Weasley boy, and he returned the favour.

"Password?" the lady said dreamily.

" _Caput Draconis_ ," replied the boy, and the portrait slowly swung forward, revealing a rather cramped portrait hole. Some students muttered excitedly, which Draco found quite humorous, but when both Seamus and Dean grabbed ahold of his arms and shook, he cringed slightly, an odd but unpleasant feeling swirling in the pits of his stomach. As students started to climb in through the portrait hole, people started to push.

But Draco didn't want to go in, it all felt too final.

What would his father say? He spoke of the Gryffindor house with such disdain at King's Cross, and to soon be told that his son is associated with the likes of such people...

Surely his mother will find a way to have him see reason, to calm his furious outbursts, to prevent the humiliation he will rain on his son shall they not be contained.

Draco cursed himself for ruining his first night at Hogwarts with such intrusions, and pulled an ardent Dean and Seamus forward and into the portrait hole. When they stepped through, the boys were bombarded by the robust palettes of red. Scarlet lined the walls in tapestries, the plump armchairs scattered across the common room were accented with tufts of gold. It all seemed so warm, so different from the interior of the Malfoy Manor. Draco wondered whether his eyes would sizzle and spark like camera flashes if he bared them to just enough red.

"The first-year boy's dormitories are to your right, girls to your left," the Weasley boy addressed the rampant students, "You'll find all your luggage in your rooms. Off with you, it's almost past curfew!"

And so Draco set off at a sprint up the stairs the boy had pointed to, beginning a long journey up the tower to find his bed.

"Draco! Hold on!" Dean called, Seamus tripping behind clearly struggling to keep up.

"Can I have your energy? I think I ate twice my weight tonight!" he huffed.

Draco skipped the last two steps by bounding upwards, and finally he reached the beds. Red was surely becoming his least favourite colour.

The dormitory consisted of six four-poster beds, each draped in subtle scarlet and golden quilts. Three of the beds he assumed were for himself, Dean, and Seamus, he was yet to learn about his remaining three roommates. A familiar tweet to his left grabbed his attention.

"Ulysses!" he exclaimed, jogging towards the eagle owl still confined within his cage, "You must be feeling cranky, no?"

Draco was proven correct as the bird nipped at his fingertip harshly.

"Whoa, nice bird!" said Dean, and Draco heard his footsteps approaching. He kneeled beside him, and clicked his tongue repeatedly at Ulysses. Panting was heard not long after, and Seamus lolled himself over the bed nearest the two other boys.

"He's been in there the entire day and evening," Draco mumbled more to himself, desperately wanting to free Ulysses from his cage. He wasn't sure whether he would be permitted to just yet. Sighing, he slid two fingers between the bars of the cage and stroked his owl's feathers.

"There's an owlery here, I'm sure. Perhaps I can let you out tomorrow morning," he spoke as if Ulysses could understand him, and at times, Draco didn't doubt that.

Violent and clumsy trotting sounded through the staircase, soon followed by heavily exaggerated huffing and puffing. Draco peered over his shoulder to see who had just entered the dormitory.

"Longbottom!" he greeted, and Neville flushed and waved meekly. He shuffled over to a vacant bed and fell face-first into the quilts, Draco was certain he was out like a light in the next five seconds.

Dean had left Draco's side to organise his luggage and get ready for bed, and Draco had to shoo Seamus off of the one he had plummeted on, ordering he find a different bed. He had just unlocked his largest suitcase when another two boys entered the dormitory.

Draco recognised them both immediately.

A boy taller than any other eleven-year-old he had seen, with limbs messily strung to him and significantly red hair, dressed in robes that somehow managed to pool at the floor beyond his ridiculously long legs, strode towards a bed on the other side of the room. He was most certainly a child of the Weasley family, his name Draco didn't know.

And the other boy, who had entered the dormitory surrounded by a haloing aura Draco was sure everybody else could see, was Harry Potter. Draco's face burned with a variety of colours when Harry nodded his way, grinning bashfully.

—————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after a massive break, i have returned with much more motivation and inspiration... which is good cuz i thought i was losing all that.
> 
> sorry for such a long wait! a lot was going on with school and moving, meaning i didn't get a lot of time to myself. 
> 
> but even during that break (that lasted over a whole fucking month wOw), i received some lovely comments from some of you, talking about you were so excited for the new update.
> 
> so thank you!


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